


and 'til then, i should just try not to miss any more appointments

by dewdrops



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Canon, i have no idea how else to tag this it's just a short kind of sad thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-04 16:32:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12172620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dewdrops/pseuds/dewdrops
Summary: Within the next hour, he's swamped with thoughts ofnot being deserving, being an unnecessarily heavy weight bearing down on the shoulders of everyone he's loved and loves and will love, for as long as he's able to. Isak's breath, slow and warm against the crook of his neck, should comfort him, but instead leaves him feeling pangs of guilt all over.Nothing good ever comes out thinking these things, but he can't stop the flood once it's started.***Or, an extrapolation of Even's thoughts from that one text in his clip.





	and 'til then, i should just try not to miss any more appointments

**Author's Note:**

> a little thing you write when you really miss even :( devastated at the lack of a solely even season, but also so grateful to have been introduced to this amazing character at all. this stemmed from even's clip in s4, particularly from the "you don't know what he has to deal with for the rest of the year" text, so if you don't wanna read about struggles with feelings of inadequacy + mental illness, this is ya warning. i might/might not write a pt 2 following isak. title is from "appointments" by julien baker, which i highly recommend having a listen to as it's what inspired this!

It's not something that plagues him. He can go days without it even crossing his mind, and in it's place, there are good things. 

There's Isak visiting him at work, his nose red from the cold that Even gets to feel for himself as he holds out a saccharine coffee, their fingers brushing as the cup travels from his hand to Isak's. There's the soft thrum of the cars below when he wakes up early in their apartment and makes them breakfast, keeping him from slipping too far into the depths of his mind in the otherwise silent kitchen. 

But then, there's a night where something keeps him awake, and it'll gladly take the opportunity to come back. He's tracing the curve of Isak's shoulder blade, eyes fixated on a dark ceiling, when the floodgates are opened. He thinks he's the one who opened them. 

The first few drops emerge, and he knows tonight won't be one for sleep. He still tries his best, presses his palm flat against Isak's back and closes his eyes. 

Within the next hour, he's swamped with thoughts of _not being deserving, being an unnecessarily heavy weight bearing down on the shoulders of everyone he's loved and loves and will love, for as long as he's able to_. Isak's breath, slow and warm against the crook of his neck, should comfort him, but instead leaves him feeling pangs of guilt all over. 

Nothing good ever comes out thinking these things, but he can't stop the flood once it's started. 

He's tried writing, but seeing the words he's thinking on paper makes his stomach churn. His only out is drawing, and it's hardly an _out_. Hunched over his sketchbook, trying to channel the chaos erupting in his mind onto the page in front him; it's just enough to shake the fear of messing up, of doing something that will worry Isak further than he already does. 

Because he worries. He doesn't explicitly tell Even about it, but he doesn't need to. The way he abandons his homework to pepper kisses onto his jaw and ask him if he's tired after he gets home from a late shift is enough. The crease that forms between his eyebrows when Even offhandedly mentions cancelling his appointment the following Thursday is enough. 

He hates that he makes Isak worry. Hates it so much that he'll tell him that he's not too tired, but he could sleep if that's what Isak was planning on doing. So much that he'll not cancel his appointment, that he'll get ready for it early before returning to the balcony to watch dawn color the sky from over his sketchbook. 

He wants to paint it, but he knows he'd wouldn't be able to do it justice. So, just like all things he desperately wants to commit to memory and watch play behind his eyelids, he films it. 

From behind his lens, he captures the moment the dark sky gives away to the first of the sun's tendrils. He stays outside until the sky's a soft pink, and then shifts his focus elsewhere. 

Elsewhere is still asleep, underneath the blanket Even had tucked around him after leaving bed. He's resting his head on the pillow Even had been using, half of his face hidden in it. 

Even kneels beside the bed, trying to capture the way the early morning light is illuminating Isak. He films the shadows being cast off his bones, the way they change as time passes. He films the way his hair, unkempt and spilling over onto his forehead, takes on a golden hue in the sunlight. 

He thinks there's no better time to film than when the sun has just risen, encasing everything in a gentle warmth. And there's nothing better to film than the rise and fall of Isak's chest, a steady rhythm that calms Even enough that he manages to forget about what's been keeping him awake. 

He only remembers when Isak begins to wake. He can see his eyelashes fluttering from where he watches behind his lens, and can hear the sharp intake of breath that's indicative of being forced from unconsciousness. 

Even's still filming when Isak opens his eyes. The deep green pools immediately zero in on him, and he can feel his heart in his chest. Isak's the first to break the silence, still blinking blearily as he parts his lips. "Making a movie?" 

His voice is quiet, and Even's guilt is intermingling with all the fond things he's feeling for him. It's a lot, and he's hurled back into the chaos he's been trying to stave off for what feels like his whole life. "Of course," he murmurs. 

Isak pulls up the blanket until it's tucked beneath his chin and then reaches a hand out to pat the empty spot in front of him. "Cold." 

He doesn't need to do or say anything else to coax Even back into bed. He puts an end to his early morning film, albeit reluctantly. Not really, though, since real-Isak that he can touch and make smile is even better than the hours of Isak footage he's accumulated. A smile is what he's going for when he lies on his side, facing Isak and cupping the side of his face. "I don't get any blanket?" 

A smile was what he was going for, but it isn't what he receives. Isak's not looking at his face as he frowns, his eyes instead raking down his body. "Why're you dressed?" he asks slowly. 

"I have an appointment today." He doesn't know why he's reminding Isak, when yesterday it was Isak reminding him. 

This doesn't seem to placate Isak, who's now meeting his gaze. "Your appointment's isn't until after school." His eyes dart somewhere over Even's shoulder, and there's a crease between his eyebrows. "My alarm hasn't even gone off. It's like, what? Six?" 

Even's not sure why the time is so important, but he'll indulge Isak. "I guess." 

Isak still looks concerned, and Even hates that it's his fault. He'd do anything to keep from worrying Isak; he'd even write, in spite of how awful it makes him feel, if he thought writing would help him work through his racing thoughts. He just doesn't think it will. Doesn't think anything will, some times. 

The only thing he thinks might temporarily aid the situation is to ignore it. To disregard the notion that he's not good enough for Isak, to _try_ and be good enough for Isak. "Still enough time to cook you breakfast before you go." He leans in to press a chaste kiss to Isak's lips before sitting upright. "What do you feel like?" 

Isak's sititng up alongside him, blanket pooling around his bare waist. "I'm not going." His voice is still tired, but he sounds determined, fitting his hand over Even's as he speaks.

Even looks down at their hands, and then at Isak. "You are." 

Isak's gotten good at reading him, and he immediately seems to realize the way his words have affected Even. "You don't want to spend the day with me?" Even knows it's supposed to be a joke, but Isak's not smiling as he delivers it. 

He's squeezing Even's hand, and this. This is what Even mulls over when he's been awake for too long. Isak expresses concern in his own ways. Words that sound light but feel heavy when they ricochet off the walls of his mind, a comforting touch. It's this concern; a gentle yet unyielding thing of which he feels completely unworthy. 

"I do." He laughs, lifting their intertwined hands to kiss Isak's knuckles. "I do every day. Just not when you're complaining about how much you're missing by skipping lessons." 

Isak looks somewhat satisfied by this answer, and Even's relieved. The thought of Isak missing school for him isn't settling well, and he's trying to will it from his mind as Isak grumbles about how attending lessons impacts recall ability. Eventually, he trails off, and he squeezes Even's hand again as he asks, "What're you doing today?" 

Even cards his free hand through Isak's hair. He's still chasing a smile when he says, "Waiting for you to get home." 

No dice, but Isak's rolling his eyes and that's almost as good. "I just offered to stay home." 

"Oh, yeah." He runs his fingers through the curls at the back of Isak's neck, warmth blossoming in his chest when Isak's eyelids begin to droop. "I don't know. Pick up some groceries, maybe. Unless you wanted to go with me later." 

"You're not working?" When he shakes his head, Isak murmurs, "You can do it, if you want." 

"Okay." Even doubts he's doing a good job of keeping everything he's feeling for Isak off his face, but it's not like he's really trying. Not like he really _could_ try, when Isak's like this. 

It's a good morning, but it ends. He tries his best to prolong the ease he feels after Isak suggests they have cereal for breakfast and they eat in bed, but it's gone as soon as Isak actually has to get up. He seems just as reluctant about the whole leaving bed thing as Even. 

Even doesn't want him to go, but he _needs_ him to go. Needs to know that he's going to school, that he's doing things for himself and not getting too caught up in whatever it is that Even's dealing with. 

That's why he makes the bed as soon as Isak's left it, hoping it'll be enough to dissuade them both from bailing on their plans for the day and falling back into it. That's why he finds Isak's scarf before Isak inevitably asks where it is, and then loops it around his neck for him once he's hiked his bag over his shoulders. 

Isak looks like he wants to say something as Even tucks a loose end of the scarf in, and Even's scared of what it's going to be. So, he beats him to the chase, asking, "Are you forgetting something?" as he levels him with a soft smile. 

Isak pats his pockets, the crease that has been etched between his eyebrows all morning deepening. "Am I?" 

Even isn't sure how it is that he remembers Isak's things, while he seems to let his own fall by the wayside, but he doesn't mind. Doesn't mind forgetting his name tag if it means slipping Isak's phone into his back pocket before he walks out the door, doesn't mind that the time of his appointment has escaped him if it means remembering Isak's textbook from beside the bed. 

He doesn't feel like pestering Isak about it, so he's quiet as he hands the book over to an incredulous Isak. He snorts as he shoves the book into his bag. "I would've been so fucked." He slings the bag back over his shoulders and then returns his attention to Even. "Thanks." 

It's so unnecessary. The thanks is so unnecessary, when Isak could probably remember his things if it weren't for issues that aren't even his own weighing on his mind. What Even's feeling; survivor's guilt and a familiar sadness and a love so all-consuming that it aches, all vying for a spot at the forefront of his mind. But they've showed up to a packed arena, and they're standing by the nosebleeds, waiting for one of the seats to become available. 

When one does, they'll race for it. He's not sure who will win. 

He's not sure, but he thinks he might have an inkling, as he brushes the pad of his thumb over Isak's cheekbone. Isak, who's clearly waiting for his response, swollen pupils surrounded by a rim of green boring into his face. 

It's not easy, but it's possible. The words cut his throat up as they work themselves out of it, but they _do_. They eventually do work themselves out, and he lowers his hand so it rests on Isak's shoulder as he says, "You're welcome."


End file.
